


Slicker

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [43]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Double Anal Penetration, Fauns & Satyrs, Kitsune, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, Shedding, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The spring brings with it a return to 2fort, and with it, warmer weather.  Going from the chill of Coldfront to the deserts of 2fort have left Scout with a winter coat to shed, making a nuisance of himself by leaving fur all over the base, sometimes in very uncomfortable and inconvenient places.  The rest of the team charges Spy, the other resident fur-haver, with helping solve the problem, and maybe teaching Scout a few lessons in the process.</p><p>(Takes place a little further ahead in the timeline than where the main story currently is.  This disclaimer will be removed when the story catches up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slicker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiny-freakin-head (Hobbitfing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/gifts).



> commissioned by tiny-freakin-head

Scout panted, his breaths puffing out in the form of wordless moans. He could see Medic's cock in front of his face, unfocused and half-closed as his eyes were, and he yearned to taste it. It looked so tantalizing, hard and hot and so close to him, but he remained with his cheek pressed to the older man's thigh, unable to will himself to move.

He was in too much pleasure, too much sensation, and all he could do was lay there and gasp out his pleasure as the doctor he laid so bonelessly atop sucked his cock with lazy affection. Medic's mouth was hot, wet, and his tongue flicked and rolled just right, lighting every one of the faun's oversensitive nerves ablaze. He wished, wished he could return the favour, but even if he were able to resist the devilish delights of his lover's skilled mouth, he was ruined by the two-fingered assault he was enduring from behind.

Heavy's fingers were so thick, so strong, and they hooked down into his prostate with ruthless efficiency. The giant had long since gotten him stretched and prepared for penetration. Now, he was just toying with Scout, milking him into Medic's mouth and relishing the sounds of Scout's ruination and the doctor’s delighted hums as he tasted more and more of the faun's salty fluid.

Scout whined a little, pressure winding in his gut, his legs wobbling and shaking as he half-held himself up on his knees, his hooves digging into the sheets. When a massive hand seized one of his antlers and lifted him, forcing him to put his arms out for support, he let out a cry, bearing down on his knees and into Medic's throat, which the doctor welcomed easily. Heavy tugged Scout, jerking him by one antler roughly, and rumbling out heated words about how sexy and fun to play with the faun was, how much the two older men enjoyed destroying him, taking him apart piece by piece with pleasure. How they would toy with him, please him, and make him come, then when he was boneless and unable to do anything, they would take him, and use him, and claim him.

It was exactly the plan for the evening, in fact, but that didn't make the jotun-blooded Russian's words any less seductive. Scout shuddered, and realized he was coming up on his orgasm sooner than he'd realized. Everything was so much, so powerful. He could barely breathe. Heat built inside of him like a fever, and every sound was so loud. His own rough breaths, Heavy's lurid growls, the squish of his lube-slick fingers in his ass, Medic's slurps and gurgling sounds of pleasure around the cock in his throat, and the squeaks of their well-used bed. He panted, tongue lolling out, tail wagging a mile a minute. His vision was blurry, but his sense of smell was going completely mad. He could smell the lube, their saliva, the musk of their arousal and the pheromones practically bleeding off of them. The whole room smelled like sex, and it was the most wonderful aroma in the world to Scout.

Then Heavy jammed his fingers down against his prostate, and he went tense suddenly, eyes snapping shut, mouth open around a cry as he flooded Medic's throat with his release, jerking and shivering as the older man swallowed around him greedily, his arms wrapped tight around the smaller man's furry waist.

“Shit, shit Doc I can't—Big Guy I—too much! Too much!” Scout barely whimpered, writhing in their grasp until finally, the fingers were gone from his ass and he was being rolled onto his side, off of Medic, who slurped loudly when his mouth was empty.

Scout lay limp on the bed, his belly rising and falling in rapid movements, gulping down air desperately. Medic sat up and made a spluttering sound, picking at his mouth.

“Doktor, you are alright?” Heavy asked, moving to check on his older lover.

“Ja, just—” Medic sputtered again, sticking out his tongue and scraping over it with his fingernails before coming away with the culprit: a few stray strands of fur. “I had fur in mein mouth.”

“You have fur on face and in hair, too,” Heavy chuckled, brushing his lover off.

“Ach, Scout, you shed so much!”

Scout flopped up a hand as if to fail at swearing some kind of oath. “Srry Doc,” he slurred. “'s warm 'ere, 's all.”

“Ja, ja, I know,” Medic sighed, brushing more stray fur off of the bed, now that he was aware of it. He turned to Heavy, who was wiping his fingers off on a towel. “So, shall we?”

“Da, of course! Do you want him first, or...?”

“How about we take him together?” Medic asked, a devilish grin crossing his handsome face.

Heavy mirrored the expression, and reached for the lube, as Medic manipulated Scout's boneless form into a position where both men could easily penetrate him simultaneously, laying back with the faun atop him, letting Heavy take the lead.

The giant knelt between their legs, and after applying a generous coating of lube to both his and Medic's cocks, held them together as they pushed slowly into Scout, stretching his hole wide around their combined girth.

Scout's hoarse cry filled the room and spilled out into the night, soon followed by pleas that they not stop. They did not for quite a while.

 

*

 

“Verdammnt Schei ß e,”  Medic growled, brushing at his trousers with a lint roller, the sticky surface collecting more and more of the fur that collected on the fabric.  It was barely  past breakfast and already he was covered with the stuff. “I understand that dating a man with fur might involve a bit of that fur getting into places. It is like dating a man with long hair. But this!” He waved the lint roller at Heavy, who was watching with amusement as he leaned against the bureau in their shared quarters. “ This is ludicrous! I cannot have myself looking so unprofessional simply because our boyfriend decided he wanted to grind against me before his morning run!

“Did not have to let him do sexy times with nice clothes on,” Heavy noted.

“Then I would be picking fur out of mein arsch crack! Which, by the way, is precisely what I had to do this morning, thanks to our lovemaking last night! The shower heads here do not move, Misha! I have never showered at such an awkward angle!”

“What about the one time after match when you showed us you could put foot behind head and stand and then I entered you—”

“That was not a position for the purpose of showering!” Medic interrupted, his cheeks growing red.

Heavy chuckled. Medic was so easy to wind up when his appearance was concerned. For a man who refused to wear gloves during surgery, he certainly held exacting standards regarding his grooming. All the same, he too, had been feeling the aggravation of Scout's post-winter shedding. It was everywhere. _Everywhere._

“ I understand, Doktor.  I wake this morning, I feel itch...down there. First I think, 'Oh no. What disease has Spy or Sniper given to Scout to make me itch there after night of sexytimes?' I worry, and decide to look before I ask you. Do you know what I find in shower?”

“Was?” Medic asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Fur. Caught under foreskin. Is no good. Is terrible!”

Medic had to laugh, even though it was a disgusting revelation. “Ach! I am so sorry, Schatz!” He tried to calm himself, stifling a giggle. “I have never been so grateful for mein circumcision, however.”

Heavy frowned, and nodded. “ Scout had shed much. Am hairy enough without him adding more,” the giant joked, tugging down the collar of his tee to expose some of his fluffy chest hair.

Medic's eyes lingered there, halted by the tantalizing sight. When Heavy covered up once more, he lamented silently, and returned to his fussing. “At this rate he will have you looking like a yeti!”

“Is not white, though. Would be more like bigfoot?”

“We can ask Sniper later,” Medic teased, finishing up his rolling and stripping off the layer of sticky paper from his roller to dispose of. “Ach, whatever will we do? Spending winter at Coldfront was the worst possible assignment.”

“We can hope he is rid of winter coat soon,” Heavy shrugged.  Then, a sudden thought caught him: “Doktor, what time of year do doves shed feathers?”

“Oh, they usually begin their moult toward the end of summer, just before fall. We should certainly have Scout's problem well in control before they add to the mess,” the garuda chuckled, folding his wings back as he set the lint roller down.

Heavy eyed those wings, their large, white feathers so bright and lovely, his primaries almost touching the floor. “Da, before  _they_ add to mess.”

 

*

 

Spy scowled, as pointedly ignoring the rather aggravating knocking on his smoking room door did little to dissuade its continuation. Setting the whiskey he had been preparing to pour back down on the drink cart, he sauntered over to the door, lighting a cigarette on his way so as to arm himself with the utmost air of disdain and calculated casualness. When the door was open, he exhaled a plume of smoke to his side, then turned his attention to the person—people, it turned out, standing outside his door. “Oui?”

Medic, Heavy, Demoman, Sniper, and Soldier stood in the hall, all looking a mixture of dismayed and uncomfortable. Soldier, of course, was the one to speak, “Spy, you need to have a word with Scout.”

“I do?” the rogue asked, unfazed by the statement. Just what the hell was the American on about? “Whatever for?”

“Because you are hairier than he is!”

“That is hardly difficult. We have all seen his chest.”

Medic sighed and nudged Soldier out of his way, “What Soldier is trying to say is, you, like Scout, are possessed of fur. Only three of nine here can say that, and Demoman's experience is limited to one night per month. He does not have to upkeep or maintenance it in any way. And while you are a shapeshifter, you are also _natively_ furry. I am sure you have learned to groom it, and could possibly give him some advice?”

“Usually, a fox uses his tongue to groom himself,” Spy smirked, taking another lazy drag.

“Well, we all know how skilled he is with his tongue. I am sure you will have him licking all of those hard-to-reach places in no time!” Medic grinned, waving farewell to him and turning to leave, Heavy following him with a soft chuckle. Demoman offered a shrug before following, leaving Soldier to stare at Spy for a long moment from under the rim of his helmet.

The kitsune sighed, watching them go, then turned his attention to the undead in his presence. “Anything else?”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”  
  
“Use your tongue. I could never bend over far enough to—”

Spy shut the door.

 

*

 

Scout looked with a bit of worry at the closed door to Engineer's workshop, the sounds of the Texan cursing about 'consarn fil t ration system ' managing to escape into the air. His hooves clicked on the familiar concrete floors of the 2fort base,  the warm desert air soaking into his bones. It had only been two weeks, but Scout had never felt so grateful to work in the sun-scorched hellscape that was the New Mexico gravel pits. Eventually he had warmed a bit, his winter coat coming in, but now that spring had sprung and the team had been transferred back to 2fort, he was glad for it. Coldfront was a nightmare land of snow and ice and hate fit for only the most unpersonable of polar bears. And Heavy. He was pretty fine with it, all told. Mostly because he lived in a more unlivable frozen wasteland. And had ice giant blood. What a cheater.

Stretching his arms upward, Scout yawned. He'd had an eventful morning, getting up early to shower with Heavy and Medic, then grinding on Medic as he tried to get dressed, heading out for his morning run, and slipping into Soldier's room, knowing he'd already be awake and doing his morning pushups at the foot of his bed like always. He'd offered to be a counterweight for the overachieving mercenary, and straddled his back for a few pushups before his hands wandered to the older man's ass and began groping liberally. It had been difficult for Soldier to continue his workout after that, and instead, he worked out on Scout, throwing the faun off of him and onto the bed, screwing him senseless with his hooves in the air.

Scout's tail wagged a little as he thought about it. An excellent way to start his day. He scratched at his hip, a little dismayed as his hand came away covered in fur. He shook it off and frowned. This was one aspect of returning to warm weather than he wasn't happy about.

His winter coat had come in quickly, protecting him against the cold from the waist down, and once he had gotten used to how many layers he needed under his  vest , and gotten Ma to send him a thermal shirt for when he had to run and couldn't be so bulky, he had managed to survive. But now, the warm weather meant a return to t-shirts at the most, though he usually just wore his loincloth and tags when off the field. His legs were struggling to catch up to the change, and he was shedding like some  kind of house pet.

He'd always remembered Ma citing shedding as the reason she would never let him get a dog, even though cost was the more likely culprit. He couldn't imagine the fuss she'd make if he came to visit and left a layer of fur on every available surface he happened by. She'd already been pretty strict about his hooves on the hardwood floors.

Smoke wafted into Scout's awareness,  a moment before a slightly musky, pheromonal scent, which struck him like a smell he had been aware of for so long that he had ceased to notice it until coming upon it in concentration. H e looked up to realize his wanderings had taken him near Spy's smoking room. Strange ly, it had also taken him to Spy, who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, cigarette held between two fingers. His tails were curled about his legs as they usually did when he was idle, and his gaze was focused on Scout. It took the faun a moment to notice the rogue's normally-blue eyes were a brilliant orange-gold, with slitted pupils. He must have visibly reacted, as a smirk crawled across Spy's lips.

“Heya Spy, what's up?” he asked, coming over to greet his teammate. Something wasn't right, with the way he was just standing there, waiting.

“Very little, mon ami,” Spy shrugged, taking a drag from his cigarette and exhaling toward the ceiling. “I heard you coming. Those hooves make a terrible racket on these floors.” He gestured to the faun's feet, deigning not to mention the fact that he had been sneaking around invisibly and in his natural form for the past twenty minutes, bunting against the walls to leave his scent like a trail for the faun to unconsciously follow. “And I decided to come greet you. I had hoped, perhaps, to borrow a moment of your time.”

“If you wanna fuck, Spy, just say so. I ain't got anythin' goin' on right now. Want me to eat your ass, or...?”

If the thought titillated the kitsune, he didn't let it show. Scout thought he could detect the slightest change in his scent, though.

“ Non, non. Listen, Scout. We are all very aware that your supernatural nature is very new to you. And certain things...require upkeep. You've experienced firsthand shedding your velvet and enduring rut. We've all had secondhand experience on that, but otherwise, had no way to help other than keep you satisfied. But this,” Spy reached out and ran a hand along the faun's hip, making him take in a hopeful breath. He pulled his gloved hand away, holding it up for Scout to see: fur covered the black leather. “This shedding? It is something that will happen anytime you endure prolonged temperature shifts.”

Scout pouted, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Look, I know it's kinda a pain in the ass, but I been tryin' my best. I been stayin' off the communal furniture an' everything! I shower twice a day at least! Sorry but—”

“Do not apologise, mon ami. It is not your fault, I understand. And unlike your previous problems, it is something I can advise you on.” The rogue lifted  one tail and batted  at the faun's leg with it. “I am, after all, covered head to toe in fur naturally.”

“You can help?”

“Oui. You have been shedding everywhere. And since I have singular experience in this area, it is my duty, at this point, to do something about it. Come in,” Spy bade, motioning into the room.

Scout shot him a glare. He had to rub in what a nuisance he was, didn't he? After a moment of silence, in which he became sure Spy would not apologize, he walked in, followed by the rogue closing the door behind them.

Spy slipped around Scout, headed for the drink cart and the whiskey he had been loath to leave behind. Getting out a second glass, he poured a portion for himself and one for Scout. He stirred his finger in the air above the glasses, and with a few contortions of his fingers, a violet shimmer sparkled around his digits and inside of the glasses before fading as quickly as it came. He picked up the freshly chilled glasses, and handed one to Scout, who took it with wide eyes.

“You just did that with magic?”

“Oui. Spells that chill things are not a specialty, but something I saw fit to study. Very handy for bar tricks,” the kitsune grinned, then took a sip of the whiskey. “My kind tend toward illusions, charms, and fire magics. Two of which are very useful in my line of work. The third being for disposing of evidence.” He chuckled at that, striding over to his fireplace and gazing into the flames for a long moment.

Scout sipped his whiskey. He always liked when Spy shared his fancy booze with him. Most of the whiskey the faun had experienced had been bottom-shelf stuff. Usually mixed with lemon juice to make whiskey sours and kill the boggy, chewing-on-bark taste, if you could get past the burn enough to taste anything. With this high-class stuff, there was still a burn—there always was, it was alcohol—but it was warm, subtle, and after he grew used to it, he could actually taste what he was given, and slowly, over time, it revealed its flavours to his tongue in pleasing notes and hints. It never outright said anything, just suggested peat or vanilla, with a little smirky tease of smoke.

It reminded him of Spy in a lot of ways, once you got past the burn.

“Being a shapeshifter, I have always had the option of hiding from seasonal shedding.” Spy set his drink down on the mantel and turned, tugging the mask from his head. He set it beside his drink, and unknotted his tie. “It never seemed to work exactly the same way, when I could simply walk as a man for the time it would require, with as much or as little hair as I should like.” To illustrate, his body began to mould itself before Scout's eyes. He had seen Spy use his disguise kit hundreds of times. A poof of smoke, and suddenly, technology had him looking like someone else. But here, now, watching Spy use the natural magics that were a part of him, it made the faun uneasy.

His nose shrank in length, losing its trademark shape and swooping from a low bridge to an up-turned tip with wider nostrils. His eyes grew just a little larger, taller, with heavier bottom lids. His head became more narrow, his chin less pronounced, and his cheekbones receded a little as his cheeks grew more full, giving a youthful look to the one-gaunt older man. His eyebrows thinned, grew lighter, and his hair followed in colour, becoming a familiar sandy brown that was a little overgrown from what looked like too long without a proper haircut. He shrank a few inches, his shoulders growing wider, arms longer, hands larger. His legs took on the shape of a runner's, long with thick thighs and tight calves, and his feet shrank in length. His waist narrowed, and soon he had a gangly look about him, young and awkward and entirely, literally Scout.

The faun looked at his mirror in human form, wearing Spy's suit, and his jaw dropped.

“And yet, when I return to my natural shape, it is like I have been a fox the entire time, shedding and scratching and licking, the same as my animal cousins,” Spy explained through Scout's mouth, the American's voice sounding strange around the rogue's words. It was unnatural, not hearing his speech patterns in spite of the casual way in which Spy imitated him.

“That's nuts,” Scout murmured. “Can you hold that shape as much as you want? Like, you won't turn back like with the disguise kit?”

“As long as I care to,” Spy grinned, his explanation lost amid the novelty of his natural shapeshifting. “And do not get _too_ distracted. It takes quite a bit to distract me.”

“So it's kinda like my one spell?”

“In a way, though it is more like flexing a muscle. Or, perhaps, like holding your mouth shut.”

Scout eyed him, waiting for a crack about his own inability to do so.

“What I mean is,” Spy sniffed, “your jaw has weight. And whether you realize it or not, when your mouth is closed, it is because you are holding it closed. If you were to relax your jaw, it would fall open, non? So for me, holding a shape is like holding my mouth closed. It requires effort, but it is so minimal that for something to disturb it, that something would have to be quite...jaw-dropping.”

Scout sighed and took a swig from his whiskey as he waited for Spy to finish laughing and snorting with his voice. What an insult. “So why should I care? What's that gotta do with me sheddin'?”

“What I am saying is, I did not ever have to groom myself like some barbaric forest fox,” Spy grunted, dropping the imitation of Scout as his body shifted back into the familiar shape of a Frenchman. “But I have learned to groom myself. Because I can still be covered in fur whenever I should like, and if you notice, I have indeed been keeping my tails available if I am not on the field. Just as with hair, one must care for one's fur. No excuse for looking like some ratty animal.”

“So what do you do? 'Cause I shower like twice a day now, an' I always shampoo an' condition all that! I figured all those showers'd help with the sheddin' but it just clogs the drains!”

“And that is why I have asked you here. Now, I want you to lay down over there.” The kitsune motioned to the leather couch he kept in his smoking room. Ostensibly, it was for comfort. Frequently, it was for liaisons. Today, it was apparently part of a salon treatment.

Scout did as he was told, throwing back the rest of the whiskey and setting his glass down, then trotting over to the couch and reclining comfortably with his hooves over the side. He knew how Spy got about hooves on his leather.

The rogue shuffled about in the drawer of an end table for a moment before returning and motioning for Scout to roll over. The faun did as indicated, and then Spy sighed, and made another motion.

“What?”  
  
“Let me sit,” he sighed, and when Scout got up on his knees, sat, letting the faun drape himself across his lap. “There. I need to get at your legs, after all.”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you sat on the floor?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you shaved your legs?”  
  
“Awright, jeez! So what'chu got?”

Spy withdrew the item he had retrieved: a brush. It was cherrywood, glossy and sealed, and its bristles were needle-thin and made of metal. “This, mon ami, is a slicker brush. It is used to care for fur, and remove trapped undercoat hairs that are difficult to reach. Those are the hairs that are currently trapped in every ventilation filter, dryer lint trap, and bodily crevice on base. This will help rid you of them.” To illustrate, Spy laid the brush at Scout's waist, just where the fur began, and stroked with the direction of its growth, down his hip. When he pulled it away, it was matted with fur, and he showed it to Scout, whose eyes were wide.

“Jeez, how ain't I bald, losin' all this?”

“Coldfront is very cold, and your body accommodated. A brush can be obtained from town, so this evening, I will come with you to go get one, should you like. Until then, we will brush you and try to get the beginnings laid. You will need to brush every day, until it stops being an issue. But I would suggest doing so once a day regardless. Once it is dry after your shower.”

Spy picked the fur from the brush and set the wad on the end table beside the couch, then brushed him again, and again, long slow strokes picking up shed hairs and matting them together for him to clean out and continue. Scout sighed, relaxing into the attention as Spy brushed along his hip and leg, carefully slicking away the old fur. It was entirely pleasant, like a little massage, or having his hair brushed, which Scout figured it technically was. Things only got nicer as he moved to his tail, brushing along its top, the little bristles tugging at his fur. It felt good. Very good, and Scout found his senses expanding as his body responded to the pleasant sensation. When the brush moved over one ass cheek he let out a soft little moan, which had Spy chuckling. He tugged aside Scout's loin cloth and paid attention to his inner thighs, to the swell of his backside, to his tail, and when he had finished one pass over the whole back of Scout's hips, his lower legs still untended, the rogue cleaned out the brush and deposited more wadded up fur on the table.

“That feels real good,” Scout murmured, feeling a bit like a puddle atop Spy's lap. “You want me to roll over for the front now?”

“Oh, we're not finished just yet,” Spy tutted, returning to his task. “That was just the first pass.” With little ado, he resumed his task, pressing harder, pushing the bristles deeper into Scout's coat, and brushing the thickness out of his fur with more effort.

Scout hitched a breath, wincing. The bristles managed to brush his skin, and it stung. His fur was denser than he'd realized, and it was uncomfortable, having it tugged at by the brush, digging deep and wrenching dead hairs out of his undercoat. “Ow, jeez! Not so rough!”

“It is the only way,” Spy said, largely dispassionate as he continued, growing more insistent and rough with each stroke, picking through the mats that had formed in the thick undergrowth of Scout's fur.

It pulled, it pinched, and Scout wriggled in Spy's lap, wincing against the pain. “It frickin' hurts, man!”

“Just lay still. The undercoat is matted, and it must be sorted.” The rogue sighed, picking more hair from the brush. He went back to work, scraping a heavy line down Scout's ass.

Scout barked, jerking in Spy's lap. He scrabbled for the arm of the couch, trying to pull himself away, and kicked at the cushion. At the sound of hoof on leather, Spy grabbed hold of him roughly, catching his throat in one gloved hand. The back of the slicker brush came down with a hard thwap against the faun's ass, and Scout went still.

“No hooves on my couch,” Spy admonished, feeling the younger man's pulse in his hand. All the same, a smile curved his lips as he caught whiff of the faun's pheromones, blooming into the air in the wake of the brush's swat.

Scout swallowed thickly against Spy's hand, and hissed as the brush fell against his backside again, a rough smack that produced a dull sound against his furry flesh. Spy was spanking him with the brush, admonishing him for his impulsive panic. He _had_ to know what that did to him.

Spy knew exactly what he was doing to him, and with a smirk, landed another blow on the faun's round ass. If he was going to fight this, then Spy would just have to calm him down first. “This is for your own good, Scout. You have taken no care of your coat, and now it needs maintenance.” Another swat, making the faun jerk in his grasp. He squeezed just lightly at his throat before letting go and leaning an elbow atop Scout's back to hold him in place. “And if you will not sit still when I am _doing you a favour_ ,” another swat, “then you will not sit for the rest of the day.” Spy reeled back and landed a hard blow across both cheeks, a hot sting blooming across the runner's flesh.

The last swat forced a soft sound out of Scout, the faun unable to hide his pleasure at the abuse his ass was receiving. It was almost a moan, almost a gasp, and with it, Spy had already won. He could feel the tension in the faun's legs as he knelt over the older man's lap, his face growing red, his butt smarting, and most importantly, his cock already hard against the rogue's thigh. He was so easy.

That might be because of his new form, a faerie creature who embodied the ribald concept of fertility and sensuality, but Spy knew better. Scout had always been an excitable slut, which was part of what made the chatty athlete so endearing. He could be an absolute shit if you caught him in the wrong mood, or raised his ire, but a happy Scout was a Scout that was cuddly, friendly, and very likely to suck your dick under your desk while you pretended to get work done. The only real change was the frequency with which he got up to such things, his need to do them now, and his inability to fit under a desk with those antlers, as cute as they were.

He set the slicker down and took off his gloves, giving Scout a moment to breathe and nervously wonder what happened now that he'd made his arousal obvious. The faun hoped dearly that it wouldn't piss off the finicky fox, who was already quite clearly annoyed with his rebuffed attempts at assistance. When a bare hand landed on one ass cheek, clapping loudly in the low-lit smoking room, he jolted, a moan leaving him without inhibition. Internally, he cheered, and bowed his head, antlers pressing into the leather arm of the couch as two more blows landed on the same cheek, prickling through his skin with a rising sting.

Spy frowned as he watched Scout's antler points press against his beloved couch. How unfortunate to have a shape that has so many sharp parts. It made him think of his own claws. With a sigh, he hooked two fingers into Scout's open mouth and tugged upward, lifting the faun's head by the roof of his mouth. The heel of his hand crushed one of the young man's nostrils closed, and suddenly he was panting with a wide open-mouth, a nasally, rattling sound chased by a soft moan at the manhandling. His tongue hung out, and he was beginning to rut against Spy's thigh.

He caught more spankings for that, Spy hammering four blows in rapid succession against the same cheek he'd been abusing, making Scout whine but still his hips, shivering a little with pain and need. He rubbed a slow circle on that cheek, feeling heat through his fur, and enjoying the accomplishment, though it was not nearly as satisfying as the slap of skin to skin. He would need to teach Scout how better to hold different forms with his magic. Perhaps there was something to entertain himself with: teaching the faun how better to work his magics.

Youkai and fauns were not too alike, but they were still both fae creatures, and as such, some things were the same. Innate magic was innate magic, as different as their spells may be. And Spy had certainly learned enough tricks over the years he could pass on to an eager student. Plus, finding new ways to distract and distress Scout as he tried to concentrate on shapeshifting could be an amusing enough diversion all on its own.

Spy switched to the other cheek for the next five swats, Scout rocking with each blow and mashing his nose into the palm of the kitsune's hand, panting loudly. His ass was smarting, little prickles of pain working their way through him and gathering in his groin as a growing heat and need. A soft whine left him when Spy caught both cheeks with the next blow, then returned to the second cheek. Scout had begun to count in his head: he was up to nineteen, and with one, two, three, four, each in rapid succession with increasing force, reached twenty-three. Twenty-four, twenty-five, -six, -seven, -eight, drawing heat and pain from his skin in a delicious sting that grew ever stronger with each fall of his hand.

Harder, harder, each blow landed, now alternating sides to leave Scout's skin burning in the shape of Spy's palm, no doubt reddening further and further beneath his ruddy brown fur. His tail wagged, arched up and out of the way, its fluffy white underside slightly matted with shedding hairs. The kitsune wanted to take the brush to it, to finish his task, but the way Scout's cock pressed insistently into his thigh, the way he squirmed and gasped against his hand, drool beginning to drip onto leather cushions from his lolling tongue, the way his whole body rocked and rubbed against Spy's own erection, imprisoned in too-tight trousers, made him unable to cease raining blows down on the faun's presented posterior.

Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty three, Scout's chest heaved with heavy, hard breaths, and he could feel tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. It hurt. The sensation moved from a light sting to a rough ache, not the little cracks of Soldier's crop but blunt trauma, humming like static in his skin, making him ache. It was good, so good, and he was having trouble remembering to breathe by the time Spy hit forty.

Which was good, because that's where Spy stopped. He gave the faun's rump a few soothing rubs, then ceased his assault, taking a moment to just admire the curve of the runner's toned ass and the furious wagging of his tail. He was relatively sure that deer did not wag their tails so much, though it suited Scout: positively precious and completely transparent in his mood and desires. The matted fur on its underside gave him an idea.

Spy snatched the slicker back up, and pressing it against the base of the underside of Scout's tail, dragged it down against the faun's ass, pressing hard, making sure to scrape his sensitive skin with the brush's metal bristles.

Scout fairly jumped, a low bellow leaving his throat at the sensation. His legs quivered, and tears began to leak from his eyes. Spy did it again, raking the slicker against his stinging flesh, delighting as Scout repeated the sound and rocked against his thigh, moaning his pain and pleasure hotly against his hand. Soon, he was scratching the faun's punishment into his skin over and over, the metal brush etching lines that would whiten, then redden underneath his coat, stark scratches and little welts that would stand in parallel and cris-cross hatches to remind him fondly of the delicious burn they left every time he sat.

Or in the current case, the next time Spy's hand fell on Scout's tight ass, clapping loudly and making him bawl with the sudden change and pain. “Fuck!” he cursed, licking at Spy's fingers against the roof of his mouth and snuffing a whimper. “Spy, please!” His words were slurred around the rogue's digits, his face bright red, his blood pounding in his ears. His dick throbbed, weeping just slightly against Spy's trouser leg, and the faun felt like he might die if the rogue didn't do something soon.

“Please?” Spy chuckled, rubbing Scout's abused bottom with gentle pressure. “I do believe you should be apologizing, not pleading with me.” He squeezed, making Scout grunt. “If you ripped my couch, I would have been _very_ cross.” His words carried menace, malice, and the faun felt keenly aware that a spanking would be the least of his worries if he had actually damaged the kitsune's furniture.

“Come on, Spy, I didn't mean—” Scout gasped wetly, snuffling against the older man's hand as another slap landed on his ass. “Jeez I'm sorry! I'm sorry!”

“Mmm, and do you mean that?”

“Yes! I'm sorry; it just hurt!”

“And does this hurt more?”

Scout shivered, “Yeah, much more.” He moaned a little, wriggling against Spy's leg.

“Good,” Spy teased, letting his fingers dance up the underside of the faun's fluffy tail. “Now get on the floor. Hands and knees.” He pulled his hand from Scout's mouth and let him sag, sluggishly shifting to the carpet, where he took up the position as instructed, his loin cloth poking out in front where his cock hung heavy and hard, the back draped fetchingly over the curve of his ass.

Spy followed, searching his memory for a spell he had learned long ago. It had been helpful in his much more libidinous youth, cast aside for the drama and build of old-fashioned preparation, but his frequent fornication with his faerie teammate had Spy reconsidering his choices. The slow burn of fingers and lubricant were beautiful for hungry, ecstatic lovemaking, but sometimes one just wanted to fuck. And looking at Scout's shapely, presented ass, he desperately wanted to fuck. Spy knelt behind Scout, opening his belt and fly to shimmy his trousers down his hips, taking his cock out of the lycra undershorts he wore beneath them. A muttered incantation taught by a former lover saw the kitsune drawing shapes in the air, and with a soft violet glow at his fingertips, he tugged Scout's loincloth aside and pressed the spell to his waiting hole.

Scout gasped as a sudden cool tingle filled him, slipperiness filling his senses, his muscles seeming to relax just a little, and without explaining what the faun had just felt, Spy pushed his cock into his magically-prepared ass. Crying out and grabbing at the carpet, Scout tensed, filled with the slippery heat of his friend's erection, welcomed without effort into his body. Slipped in as easily as if Spy had spent the past fifteen minutes carefully stretching and slicking him, the kitsune buried himself to the hilt in Scout's round ass, the meeting of hips to cheeks making the hot pain in his flesh spring back to mind.

“Fuuuuuck what did you do?” Scout whimpered raggedly, his head bowed as much as his antlers allowed.

“Magic,” Spy chuckled, sliding out slowly and back in. “I will show you later. Tonight, it seems, you are my protege. And I have much to teach you.”

“Wouldn't be the first time I'd wanted to fuck one 'a my teachers. First time I did it, though,” Scout chuckled, a bit wheezily under his duress.

An eyebrow raised, the kitsune hummed in thought at that. He deigned not to speculate on Scout's scholastic fantasies, and instead, set to thrusting.

Magically assisted, Scout's body gave way just enough to be comfortable for both partners, leaving Spy measuring his breaths against the unnatural tightness of the faun's slick hole. The conjured lubricant would last until he dismissed the spell, and should he care to, Spy could have revisited Scout's eager ass as many times as he cared to and found it no less ready for him. He would be satisfied with once, for now, he decided, grunting as he filled his friend with his cock in easy, lazy strokes that had him quivering beneath him.

Scout's moans came out steadily, in a low, whining babble betraying just how overwhelming his senses had grown and how much Spy had worked him up. The throb of pain in his spanked, scratched ass seemed to hold pace with the rogue's thrusting, and Scout worried his lip with buck teeth. He could lay there and let Spy fuck him forever, taking him with a near-casualness that had his gut doing flips. The smooth ingress of the other man into his body, a simple spell and then spine-tingling coitus, had Scout as aroused as the pummeling his ass had endured. It had been such an easy thing to slip inside of him and take him, and Scout considered what a spell like that could mean. He could be ready, anytime, anywhere, getting railed by whichever of his lovers happened to be interested at a moment's notice. In the rec room, the mess hall, hallways, balconies, the battlefield...

Spy felt Scout twitching around him, clenching rhythmically, urging him onward, begging for more as his mouth continued to fail at producing words. Panting, gasping, his voice raising in groans that grew louder with each stroke, Scout begged with his body, and Spy decided to give him what he wanted. Gripping his furry hips tightly, Spy sped his thrusts, moving from a leisurely pace to something far more punishing, hips clapping against the faun's furry backside.

Scout barked in response, cervine sounds leaving his mouth and chased with wanton moans that seemed so loud in the muffled acoustics of the carpeted, paneled room. Each slap of flesh to fur pushed another bark from the faun, the impact of Spy's hips against his sore ass driving a spike of pain and pleasure into his gut, like the kitsune's cock were some piercing instrument of sensory overload. Scout pressed his cheek to the carpet, ignoring its scratchy fibers against his skin, and let Spy take him, gasping for breath between cervine sounds and whorish groaning.

His thighs quaked, tense and prickling with each invasion, his body growing tighter and tighter as Spy drove him further and further into lustful reverie. The kitsune bent forward over him, letting a tail flick up and trail along his bare side, and picked up speed, fucking roughly, hungrily.

The faun was tight, always so tight, even fucked as frequently as he was by Heavy's massive cock, even double-teamed by the giant and Medic, even taking teammates multiple times a day, Scout's ass refused to quit, and it stole Spy's breath. Round, with white fur that curved into a heart shape around the base of his wagging tail, it was a perfect pair of handfuls, soft on his face when it was buried between his cheeks, and always ready for a cock inside it. Few people inspired such lust in the faux Frenchman, but Scout held his libido in his wrapped hands, even if he didn't know it. Digging his shoes into the carpet, Spy mustered force, hammering into Scout, into the heat and the tightness, the slick perfection that hugged his dick and drew ecstasy from him. Hunger burned within him, and a wide grin crossed his teeth, which suddenly grew sharp. With a groan, he let his form change yet again, his nails growing longer, pointier, into short claws which dug into Scout's hips. He let one hand wander, and drew his claws up the curve of that beautiful bottom, delighting as Scout hissed in response. “Mm, do you like that?”

“Shit, those claws?”

“Oui.”

“Fuck, that's hot,” Scout moaned, burying his face in his arms.

Spy chuckled. Scout could barely function anymore. He reached forward to Scout's shoulder, grabbing hold and pinning him down with claws pricking at his freckled skin. His other hand tight on the faun's hip, he bore down, rutting into him with short, rough strokes until finally letting his form shift enough. His cock began to swell at its base, muscle tying to form a knot inside of Scout, the thick, bulbous flesh stretching the faun from within.

The spell did not accommodate the change, and Spy was locked inside of Scout, unable to easily pull out. He certainly tried, however, Scout yowling in response. He pulled back as best he could, driving in hard only to pull back again and plunge forth, gripping him tightly with clawed hands.

“A knot?” was all Scout could whimper, incredulous and jubilant. “Holy shit you been holdin' out on me!”

“Mmm, then I suppose I will not hold out any longer,” Spy teased, trying his best to sound clever, but coming out mostly ragged and breathless. He was close, so close, but he wanted Scout to come first. The man took a certain pride in such things. He bent forward, pressing his body flush to Scout's as he rocked into him, pistoning the short strokes into his body as his hand left the faun's hip and slipped beneath him, wrapping around his cock. He was careful with his claws, sure not to hurt the younger man, but all to eager to let a long, sharp nail graze his pubic mound. He began to stroke Scout's cock, which wept precome in a thin, sticky line to the carpet.

That warm hand on his hot cock, the sudden contact and closeness of Spy's body to his, the breath on his ear, the claws digging just lightly into his shoulder, it all struck Scout like a sudden shiver, hot and ecstatic as he came with a throaty bellow. His hips juddered between Spy's cock and hand, coating his fingers and palm with come as he clenched and gasped until he was spent, panting.

Spy groaned, the flutters of Scout's pelvic floor making him dizzy. Hot come covered his hand, and he lifted his hand from the faun's cock to cup it over the young man's mouth, his gut clamping up tight at the feeling of him obediently lapping it up. When Scout sucked a finger into his mouth, it was enough, and Spy squeezed him, bucking in and groaning into his back, filling the faun's eager ass with his seed in a series of heavy spurts.

Scout finished licking Spy's hand clean as the kitsune went still atop him, breathing heavy and slicked with sweat. Soft moans left his throat at the taste of his own come, the taste of Spy's skin, and the sharp claws his tongue navigated. He was stretched, full, and he could feel warmth inside of him where Spy's load flooded him. It was big, not the biggest he'd had, having been with Demoman, but certainly impressive. Spy always came more than the usual guy, but now, like this, with his cock knotted and less human, he had filled him with far more. He wondered how many times he would have to swallow if he sucked Spy off, and the thought gave him chills.

A little groan left the kitsune at the motion, disturbed in his overstimulation. It seemed to rouse him, and Spy let go of his vice-grip on Scout, giving him a soft rub at his shoulder before climbing up to his knees. “Are you—?”

“Yeah,” Scout puffed, his antlers bobbing as he nodded a little. “Real good. Shit, it's been a while since I caught a spankin'.”

“Yes, well, sometimes you need to be taught a lesson,” Spy teased, his smirk audible. He pulled back a little, hissing as his knot kept him held fast and causing Scout to moan. “We will be stuck for a little while. Shall we get more comfortable?”

Scout sighed, “Yeah, sounds good. Fuck, that feels amazin'.”

“Mm,” the rogue agreed, carefully manipulating Scout's limp body until the two of them were laying on their sides, spooning on the smoking room rug.

“Can you teach me that spell? The prep one? 'Cause I could get all kinds 'a use outta that. I can't believe you never showed me that before! Like, you could'a been just pinnin' me to stuff an' fuckin' me anytime you wanted this whole time and you haven't? Where are your priorities, man?”

A clawed hand entered Scout's field of vision and he went silent. Spy's chin found its way between the faun's antlers to rest atop his head, and the claws changed shape, fading back into the perfectly manicured hands Scout was more familiar with. Spy brushed at the younger man's cheek, then pulled him closer into a hug. “I suppose I must reassess such things, mustn't I?” His belly jerked against Scout's back in a short laugh, and long, lean legs wound around thin, furry ones. Spy's tails settled around them, warm and fluffy. “Yes, I will teach you. We will get you a brush after we clean up, and I will teach you how to care for your coat. And if faun magic functions like youkai magic, then I should be able to show you my tricks. More importantly, I will teach you how to hold a human form more easily, in spite of most forms of distraction.”

Scout smiled, settling comfortably against the man holding him. He felt a light flutter in his chest at the closeness, and let a hand fall atop Spy's, glad that it did not move from the contact. “What kinda distraction?”

“We will start with the slicker brush for now. Perhaps, eventually, we will likely need to invest in assistance from Heavy and that jotun spell Medic knows.”

Scout's head swam with thoughts of trying to hold a spell with a fully-jotun Heavy stretching his ass beyond the limits of reason, filling him with that terrifying cock, and he let out a soft little groan at the thought. “I can't wait to get started.”

“Well, first, let us take care of this,” Spy took hold of Scout's cock, which had already grown hard again, “and we shall see where the night takes us.”


End file.
